


i was the king of this hologram where there’s no such thing as getting out of hand

by uaevuon



Series: Legends Never Die (the omegaverse geass AU) [14]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Immortality, M/M, Magical Contract, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Sci-Fi Elements, discussion of suicide, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: “I didn’t want this life to begin with.” Viktor dragged a gagging Yuri closer to him. He squeezed harder. “I only wanted Yuuri. Even now, I only want Yuuri. So you can run and tell all of your shitty little code friends, I want nothing to do with any of you. In shedding my immortality, I’m not throwing away anything that’s meaningful to me.”





	i was the king of this hologram where there’s no such thing as getting out of hand

**Author's Note:**

> **this work is part of a series, and will not make any sense without having read the previous parts.**

_I need him_. 

This was the phrase that filled Viktor’s thoughts, repetitive and earnest, on the morning of the short program. 

He woke, early, before even the sun had risen, and took a walk to the very edge of New Sky City, to the railed walkway known as the Blade. He looked out over the balcony. 

It was a long way down. 

Viktor closed his eyes and leaned forward, feeling the wind on his face, on the shell of his ear. His fringe whipped about; anyone who came close enough might see the scar across his forehead, but he didn’t mind. It’s not as if they would know what it meant. 

Up here, it was chillier than on the ground. His chest pinked to match rosy nipples between the open lapels of his borrowed coat. Yuuri’s coat was a bit small for his broader shoulders, wouldn’t close in front, but it was only right to wear this on his morning stroll even if it meant he’d come back with his nose red and his fingers half numb. He’d live, after all. 

He’d live. 

Blue eyes opened, searching the horizon for any trace of the hard light field that surrounded the city and prevented any sorry human from doing exactly what Viktor was thinking about. It didn’t matter if he jumped, even if he hit the ground; he’d just come back to life, because it wasn’t Yuuri, _my Yuuri_, pushing him off. 

Viktor sighed, his breath curling wispy-white like smoke in the cool morning air. He shouldn’t have such morbid thoughts, not now of all times. He was _happy_, more than he’d ever been. The only reason he was thinking this way was that he didn’t want the happiness to end. 

Lifting his hand in front of his face, Viktor blocked the sun out from his eyes. The ring Yuuri gave him rested on his finger, now; the matching chain still hung around his neck, looped twice, choker-tight to the skin. Gold flared in the morning light, and Viktor stared down at the ring, the gleaming golden wedding band. He couldn’t look away. 

Yuuri had asked Viktor to marry him. To love him, to have and to hold, until death—

His hands closed in a fist, and came down hard on the balcony. The hollow, metallic sound echoed into morning mist. 

Viktor crumpled to his knees, letting out a wretched sob. He was glad to be alone, the Blade almost empty this early in the morning. No one should have to see him fall apart like this. 

“Hey, geezer.” 

Viktor made another pitiful noise. “What do you want?” he snapped, in no mood for the likes of Yuri Plisetsky this morning. 

“You look like shit,” Yuri said, leaning against the railing beside him. The hard light field nearby pulsed blue for a moment, then faded back to invisible when it realized he had no intentions to jump. 

“Thanks,” Viktor said, dripping with sarcasm. He nearly leaned over and wiped his face on Yuuri’s coat, but thought better of it, and let himself leak all sorts of fluids. 

Yuri scuffed the toe of his shoe on the platform. “The pig loves you. Why are you so busted up about it?”

“One of us will die, Yura.” 

“Everyone dies,” Yuri said. “Even me, someday, I’m sure. I’ll get tired of all this.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?” Yuri leaned further over the railing, and the field pulsed blue again, warning him. Yuri didn’t care. He didn’t care about falling, and he didn’t care if it caught him or not. He climbed up onto the railing, took a few steps balance-beam style across its wide top. “That ring he gave you is made of shit.” 

Viktor pushed him. 

Yuri took the fall with grace, landing in a heap on a disc of blue light a few feet below. The last lights of Lyon winked out at the touch of sunrise, miles below him. He rolled over, shook himself, and climbed back up, grumbling all the while. “Rude.” 

“You’ve done it to me.”

“Yeah, well, I never said I was nice.” Yuri plopped himself down, legs crossed, back to the rising sun. “What is he to you, that you act like you want to give up your code for him?” 

Plain and simple. “I love him.” 

“And?”

“Is that not enough?” 

Yuri shrugged. He disagreed, but then, his and Viktor’s experiences with immortality were worlds apart. He looked over his shoulder, down at the world below. The waking cities, winding roads, fields and forests. “From up here, you can almost forget how old you are.” 

“I would think up here is where you feel it most.” 

Yuri shook his head. “My family lived in mountains,” he said. “It’s been a long time. I hardly remember them. Only grandpa. But back then, we didn’t live very long at all. He didn’t…” 

“Would you have given your code for him?” 

Yuri shrugged again. “I can’t say. I lost him before I got it. And it took me a long time to remember him, after.” He pushed his legs through the bars on the railings. The field pulsed at him again, but Yuri continued to ignore it, and he kicked his heels against the platform like a child. 

“What about Altin? Otabek, was it? You offered him a contract.”

Yuri shrugged. “He said he’d be my friend… I thought he wanted something in return. I wouldn’t mind, I guess, being contracted to him. But he says that’s not how friendship works.” 

“He’s a good man, then. Learn from him.”

Yuri didn’t acknowledge that, but Viktor could tell by looking at him that he was considering it. “You’re really going to marry Katsuki?”

“I want to. But I can’t lose him. So what do I do?” 

“You find someone else to take the code.” Yuri looked up. Viktor, still crouched, was hardly taller than him from here. “Curse someone else with it. Live the rest of your happy, natural lives together. The way normal humans do.” 

“Who would take it?” 

“Lots of people. Give them an easy task, tell them it’ll make them immortal — _bam_, you’re normal again. Is that what you really want?” Yuri asked, disbelieving. He was almost derisive, his amused eyes posing Viktor a challenge. 

“That’s — that’s exactly what I want. Thank you, Yura.” 

Viktor stood, revitalized. He didn’t know who to offer, but he had time. Not forever, because he wanted to match his Yuuri, but he had time, for now, to find someone suited to his curse. Someone who really wanted _forever_, or at least _more_. 

He’d always been afraid of growing old. Of losing his face, his strength. He feared that he might not age well; that the lines of wisdom would look like ugly scars across his perfect face; that he’d lose his hair that he adored so much; that he’d become frail and tired, unable to keep up with the pace of life for long enough to truly live it. But more than that, Viktor feared loneliness. He’d had more than enough of it in his too-long life. It hurt too much.

Viktor only wanted Yuuri. With Yuuri, he had love, and life, and joy, and family, and belonging, and everything that really mattered. 

“Wait — wait!” Yuri shouted, scrambling up after him as Viktor strode away. “You’re serious?! You’re really going to throw away all this, just for some pig?”

Viktor stopped. Slowly, he turned around, and caught up Yuri by the throat, squeezing. His eyes flashed with something sinister, something that said _I’d throw you off even if the lights won’t catch you_. 

“Don’t disrespect him like that, little kitten. That’s my fiancé you’re talking about.”

Yuri struggled, his hands clawing into Viktor’s, trying to get air. Suffocation wasn’t the most pleasant way to die. One of the most unpleasant, in fact. Viktor would know, he’d been through it enough times. Of course Yuri would struggle even if he usually didn’t react to pain. But Viktor held him fast. 

“I didn’t want this life to begin with.” Viktor dragged a gagging Yuri closer to him. He squeezed harder. “I only wanted Yuuri. Even now, I only want Yuuri. So you can run and tell all of your shitty little code friends, I want nothing to do with any of you. In shedding my immortality, I’m not throwing away anything that’s meaningful to me.” 

Yuri’s knee came up, connecting hard with his gut, and Viktor went down to his knees. His hands left Yuri’s throat, clutching at his stomach, and Yuri ran off while he was down. 

Coughing and spluttering, Viktor heaved and tears spilled from his eyes as he remained on the ground, waiting for the spasms in his stomach to cease. He should get back to the hotel; what if Yuuri woke up and Viktor wasn’t there? On the morning after their engagement, no less. That was just about unforgivable. 

So Viktor pulled himself together with deep breaths, wiped the tears from his eyes, and stumbled in the same direction Yuri had disappeared, towards the hotel and the love of his life. 

\---

“Good morning, my precious golden sunshine.”

Yuuri groaned. It was too _early_ for such sweet words, and such sweet kisses over his shoulders. 

“Wake up, sweet one. I want to kiss you. I miss your lips.” 

“Kiss me while I’m sleeping,” Yuuri offered. His voice was thick with sleep. 

“Where’s the fun in that? I want you to kiss me back.” A loud, wet kiss on the back of his neck, then smaller ones fluttering down his spine. “I want your tongue in my throat,” Viktor said to Yuuri’s twelfth vertebra. He felt Yuuri’s miniscule shiver, and smiled, mouth to skin. 

“Vitya, I’m so tired…”

“How should I wake you up?” 

Yuuri shivered harder that time, and his thighs twitched under Viktor’s roaming hands.

“I guess if I can’t kiss your lips…” Viktor slid his hands up, thumbs digging into the soft, fleshy space just under the crease of Yuuri’s ass. Yuuri’s hips lifted to the music of a quiet _mmm_ smothered in his pillow, and his legs spread at the gentle guide of Viktor’s touch, knees braced on the bed. 

“Yeah?” Viktor murmured. His thumbs rubbed at Yuuri’s cunt, over the rough, dark hair, spreading his lips. He paused to admire the softness, the juicy red of Yuuri’s core, the plump lips, the wink of his hole as Yuuri became wet in anticipation. “You want this?”

“_Yes_,” Yuuri moaned. “Your mouth, Vitya. Give it to me,” he demanded, and he choked on a whine when Viktor leaned down and kissed his lower lips. 

Viktor’s tongue poked out and tasted him, his wetness, Yuuri’s musky slick and muffled cries and the thick scent of omega pheromones overflowing his senses. Viktor pushed forward. His hands gripped Yuuri’s ass, fingertips digging in to fat and muscle, and his mouth — 

_His mouth, oh fuck— “oh **fuck** Vitya, your mouth!”_

There were fingers in Viktor’s hair, tugging at the short strands as if Viktor wanted to be anywhere else but here, between Yuuri’s legs, pleasuring him with lips and tongue and worshipful adoration and not an ounce of skill, but that was more than enough. Viktor sucked on Yuuri’s lips, licked him open, mouthed at the loose skin at the base of his cock where a knot would be on an alpha. Yuuri twisted before him, every sensitive, wet touch punching through his sleepy body. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmured, against the soaking wet of Yuuri, the molten heat of him. He pulled at Yuuri’s hips and Yuuri slid down the bed, his back curved into a deep arch as Viktor push his tongue into Yuuri’s sopping hole. 

Viktor had always heard that eating pussy didn’t taste good, but that was clearly a lie. Yuuri tasted heavenly, and he smelled even better. An elixir of life more potent than Viktor’s magic. He pressed closer, and his lips sucked viciously at Yuuri, drawing cries from his beautiful fiance’s throat. Viktor’s arms wound around Yuuri’s waist and _pulled_, and Yuuri’s knees lifted from the bed as Viktor folded him up, ass in the air and thighs trembling at every sucking kiss Viktor littered all over them. 

He tongued at Yuuri again, licked up the underside of his cock and through the softness of his cunt, into his dripping hole, and Yuuri’s cries increased in volume. He spasmed around Viktor’s tongue, clenching, as if trying to pull him in deeper. 

“Vitya, Vi— I’m so close, fuck me, fuck me now—” Yuuri babbled and whined and Viktor could only follow his demands, could only push him face down to the bed and lean over him, press a messy kiss to Yuuri’s back as he lined up his cock. 

He pushed in, and they both groaned at the connection. Fucking Yuuri was like coming home, every way they did it, and Viktor was helpless to the draw of Yuuri’s body as much as the draw of his heart, his mind, his anything and everything. 

Viktor fucked him fast and none too skillfully, chasing an orgasm that was suddenly too close. Yuuri stroked his own cock with no more finesse, but he spilled only moments later, on the bed and around Viktor’s cock, his insides tightening around Viktor so much it almost hurt. 

“Moremoremore,” Yuuri chanted, nearly breathless but still needy, and he pushed his hips back against Viktor, _hard_. His hand reached between them, fingers slippery wet with his own slick, and slid between his cheeks to rub at his hole, and then he pushed in, ignoring the cramp quickly forming in his wrist, in favor of diving headfirst towards a second orgasm as Viktor finally spilled inside him, filling him with heat and biting down hard on his shoulder. Not hard enough to stop his mouth, and Viktor’s shout could have woken the whole city. 

“Mm, mmh…” Viktor moaned against Yuuri’s shoulder, still rutting into him, oversensitized but greedy. 

Yuuri encouraged him with soft praise and sharp moans as Viktor’s cock dragged against his swollen inner walls. “Vitya… My Vitya. You’re so good to me,” he crooned, and Viktor whimpered but didn’t stop moving inside him. “You treat me like a prince. I wish I could give you even half of what you’ve given me.”

“You do,” Viktor choked out. “You give me everything.”

“I will,” Yuuri said, and he craned his neck so he could press a soft, tender kiss to Viktor’s wide forehead, just beyond the tip of that old scar. “I’ll give you everything, Vitya. Forever.” 

\---

Walking into the Beehive arena, Yuuri should have been listening to his short program music. He should have been plugged into _On Love: Eros_, the heavy bass, the synthesized ecstasy, the guitar riffs played by fingers that could play a body just as well. 

But he wasn’t. 

Instead, Yuuri’s earbuds played the first piece of music he’d ever seen Viktor skate to. _The Lilac Fairy_, so many years ago, had been little more than background noise to Yuuri’s sexual awakening. Viktor, gliding across the ice like a fairy himself, dressed in… really, that costume was entirely inappropriate for someone his age, but Viktor had said it was all his idea, lingerie and bondage inspirations and all. He was so beautiful, with his ribbons of hair trailing behind him, and the glitter of rhinestones over his chest and shoulder reflecting onto his soft cheek. Yuuri, only twelve years old and watching old programs on the flat projection in Ice Castle, stared in nothing less than the awe afforded to acts of god. 

There was nothing so sensual about the music, and if he really wanted to get into the right mindset for skating, Yuuri need only look at the man himself. Viktor walked beside Yuuri, with his short hair immaculately styled and his mascara practically dripping with sex appeal. Forget the suit; Yuuri wanted to see him naked, sprawled on the ice and bared to the world and Yuuri’s hungry eyes and hands and mouth. 

But there was something about taking Yuuri back to his roots, back to the program that had convinced Yuuri to devote his life to figure skating, to competition, to Viktor. Something that _fit_, when he was here, in what might be the last competition of his mortal life. Full circle. 

Viktor didn’t know yet. Not quite. He didn’t know what Yuuri had decided, and Yuuri didn’t plan to tell him. At least not until the competition ended. But he knew. He knew this was the end for him. Whether he took the curse today, or years and years from now, it would end the same way. He decided that he would take Viktor’s code, he would live out the rest of Viktor’s mortal life by his side, and then—

and _then—_

He didn’t quite want to think about what came after. 

Yuuri’s blade kissed the ice first during the practice. He only attempted two jumps; his quad salchow, which he landed with hardly a wobble, and the triple axel when his name was called, flawless as his favorite jump should be. Otherwise, he focussed on his choreography. He’d need to reserve his energy and make his stamina count, put everything he had into all those jumps in the second half of his program. 

Including the quad flip. 

During the intervening weeks between Rostelecom and the Final, Yuuri added a quad flip to his _Eros_ program on a whim, but a good one. One he could back up with numbers and sound reasoning and the need to beat Viktor and the whole world. His technical scores simply weren’t good enough, weren’t _the best_, and while his performance scores were always high, it wouldn’t be enough to secure a win. He needed there to be no question in his mind that he would take home the gold. Yuuri needed that, or he would crumble, and it would be no different from last year: a disappointing last-place finish. 

He wanted to practice the flip, even once, during the warm-up, but for once Yuuri took to heart the knowledge that he would have a meltdown if he missed it, so he steered clear. Viktor seemed to appreciate it, patting Yuuri on the shoulder when he returned to the boards. 

Yuuri was on to skate first, which was still his least favorite order, but one he found himself in all too often. Viktor’s hands smoothed over his on top of the boards. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, for once, and Yuuri could see the ring on his finger; around his neck, Viktor had pulled the chain out from under his shirt, and arranged it to peek out between the flaps of his collar, over the knot of his tie. Yuuri’s own ring was still on his chain, safe and warm in the hollow of his throat. But it would make sense to match Viktor, wouldn’t it?

While waiting for the zamboni to finish cleaning the ice, Yuuri asked Viktor to help him with the necklace. “It’s a little tight,” he said, “with the ring hanging off it. I think I’ll wear them the way you do.” 

“Tight, huh?” Viktor repeated. He could tell by Yuuri’s playful gaze that it was a tease, that he really just wanted to make sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind the way these pieces of jewellery tied them together. 

So he waited for Yuuri to turn around, and he undid the clasp with chilly fingers, carefully freeing it from Yuuri’s neck and slipping the ring off into his hand. Yuuri, seeing cameras trained on them, became momentarily self-conscious, his hands coming up to cover some of the more risque parts of his costume, the unlined mesh, the laces… but then his tentative confidence returned, and he turned the motion into something seductive, his palms sliding over the skin-tight costume with purpose. He stared them down, then looked away, smiling to himself, as if to say _I — **we** — don’t need your approval_. 

Viktor replaced the chain, and left a kiss on Yuuri’s neck, just above the clasp. There was no reason for subtlety, not anymore, and Yuuri leaned back into the press of lips. Then Yuuri turned back to face him. He held up his hand, the right one, same as Viktor, and with trembling hands Viktor slid the ring onto his finger. 

Yuuri felt warmth on his face, and realized too late, when Viktor’s bare thumb swept across his cheek, that he was crying. 

“Shit,” Yuuri hissed, biting into a smile despite himself. “This isn’t very _Eros_, is it?”

“Love is the most erotic thing there is.” Viktor lifted Yuuri’s hand to his lips, and kissed the ring, his warm lips leaving tingles on Yuuri’s cold fingers. He produced a tissue from the poodle plush he always carried around, and dabbed under Yuuri’s eyes, careful not to displace the makeup Viktor had done for him. 

“Seduce me with everything you have, Yuuri. My love.” 

“My love. My Vitya.” Yuuri backed away, feeling the seconds slip by before he would start losing points to a late start. Viktor reached for him until the last moment, when their fingertips slipped apart. 

Yuuri greeted the audience, the judges, with a quick circle round the ice, then took up his starting pose, one hip popped and a sultry expression on his face. 

The music began; Yuuri lifted his arms, swept them down around himself, and turned. Viktor, standing just in front of the panel of judges, smiled at him. Yuuri smiled back, instinctive. He caught himself just in time to bite his lip and throw a hooded gaze in the same direction, and he could just barely see Viktor’s cheeks pink before the choreography swept him away. 

The story of _Eros_ had come so far since Viktor first shared the choreography with Yuuri. What was once an alpha seducing a travelling omega, bewitching him and then passing him by — later three days of mutual heat, a tridium of devoted worship from body to body, omega to omega — it had grown into the story of Viktor and Yuuri, their budding romance, their spark of attraction growing into an inferno of insatiable desire. Yuuri let it fill him, thick like syrup and pulsing like a nightclub. He danced their fumbling flirtations, their first kiss, the torturous heats separated by a wall in his step sequence; in his spins were the roll of hips, Yuuri’s against Viktor’s, the taste of his skin, the heat of his release, the desperation of one within the other. His jumps were the crest of orgasm, the blinding white heat of _I love you_ and _I want you _and _You’re mine_. 

And in the quad flip, was _Forever_— 

_But it won’t be_. 

Yuuri’s blade cut deep, his knee bent low, _too low_, and his fingers brushed the barest flakes of _cold_. His right hand touched ice, just enough, _just_ enough for a deduction. 

Yuuri grit his teeth, the moment lost. He finished his program in a heat of rage, at himself, at anything and everything. Breathing heavy, Yuuri collapsed to his knees; there were cheers around him, the audience bursting with enthusiasm at his nearly perfect skate, but Yuuri heard no more than the buzzing inside his head. 

He hauled himself up, made the necessary bows to each side of the arena, and left the ice. He didn’t want to face Viktor after that disappointment. After all, Yuuri had been the one to insist on the flip, on the grounds of added grade of execution, but instead he’d _lost_ points. 

Viktor had no criticism in the Kiss and Cry, which was almost worse. As if he was saying, _you know exactly what you fucked up._ And as the scores came in, Yuuri knew that was it. He bowed his head, and felt Viktor reach for him, grip tight. 

“They underscored you,” Viktor hissed. “You should have broken one hundred, easily.”

“I fell,” Yuuri spat, his eyes trained on a scuff at the toe of one skate. 

“You touched ice. That’s not enough to take you down this much.”

Yuuri didn’t respond to that. As far as he was aware, he deserved his abysmal score. He’d made a fool of himself again, fell at the high point of his program, touched down on the jump that bound him to Viktor. And then he’d lost all the romance, the sultry eroticism that was the heart of this program, skating the end with anger and disappointment. 

Why was Yuuri even here? Why skate, why make a contract with Viktor, if he was just going to blow it all like this? He’d given Viktor more than enough trouble. He should just end it, now. Right. Now. 

But Yuuri was selfish. Even if it was only a few more days, he would take it. Every last moment with Viktor was precious. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, to himself, to Viktor, to everyone. 

“You don’t need to apologize. You were incredible. You _are_ incredible.” 

Viktor’s lips pressed to Yuuri’s hair, his arms around his shoulders, but Yuuri was cold. 

He watched the replay of his jumps with a weight in his belly that nauseated him. All but one were perfect, yet Yuuri forced himself to watch the flip, to watch the fall.

He sat through the rest of the skaters to go on, only halfway attentive to Viktor’s running commentary. Viktor complimented Phichit’s artistry, Christophe’s dedication to his aesthetic. He watched with glittering eyes and applauded Otabek’s one-of-a-kind style that belied his non-traditional training. And he was perfectly silent when Yuri Plisetsky took the ice, and absolutely tore it up with a skate that overwhelmed in its perfection. 

“Viktor?” Yuuri tried to catch his fiance’s attention, but Viktor had a single focus: the holographic projections overhead, of Yuri in the kiss and cry, his outrageous scores flashing. Yuri’s eyes wide as saucers, as his usually stoic coach stood up and bellowed a cheer. 

Yuri had beaten the oldest record on the books — Viktor’s short program score, set when he was still a junior, at his final Junior World Championships. 

“Oh.” Yuuri couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted. It was his responsibility to beat Viktor’s scores! How dare this _child_— 

“Congratulations, Yurotchka.”

The quiet words from Viktor’s lips hurt like knives. 

Yuuri didn’t even bother looking back to the ice even though he should watch J.J., should know what he was up against. Instead Yuuri kept watching Viktor, as he took in half a breath to criticise J.J. before snapping it shut when the man fell, and fell, and fell. 

Yuuri could relate. That had been him, last year, in his free program. He’d fallen apart in much the same way after the news that made his whole world crash down around him. But whereas Yuuri could only hate how he’d self-destructed, he couldn’t criticise J.J. for taking on the world and being overwhelmed by the same. Besides, J.J. was still young, only nineteen and with years ahead of him for his strength and determination to blossom into the grand slam he so craved. Yuuri… well, he could have retired last year and few would question his decision. By now he should be much better, much stronger. 

He had to be better. Otherwise, what was he even doing here? Why had he even made the contract with Viktor? And then he’d gone and made Viktor fall in love with him, said the words that cemented them together, inseparable in the sticky grip of love. 

If Yuuri wasn’t good enough to be _better_ than Viktor, what was there left to do to save him? 

\---

Viktor let the shower stream, beating hard against his back and shoulders. The water was hot, as hot as he could take it, and he scrubbed his skin with vigor as it swirled on the tile beneath him and soaked into the surrounding carpet of moss. 

It wasn’t healthy to bandage emotions with sex, Viktor knew this much, but he still intended to do exactly that. Yuuri was hurting, feeling he’d failed even when he’d done no such thing. He’d put the whole audience in awe, and most of all, had awed Viktor himself. It didn’t matter what the scores were, not when Yuuri had been so enthralling, so seductive. 

Anyway, did it really count as a bandage if it was what Yuuri asked for? What Yuuri called out for, in every twist and turn upon the ice? 

Hell, but _Eros_ did things to Viktor; every time he saw Yuuri skate for him, that perfect little package of every sexy thing in Yuuri laid bare for Viktor, no-one else… it made him weak, in the best way possible. 

So Viktor cleaned himself, every inch, especially his ass. He wanted Yuuri to take him, no barriers between them, and until he had confirmation that birth control would even work on him it had to be this way. 

Viktor wrapped himself up in a fluffy robe, towelled his hair half dry, and left the shower area. 

Yuuri, who’d showered first, sat on the bed in a spare set of sweats. Curious, as Viktor really thought Yuuri would be on the same page about tumbling into bed together, but maybe he’d gotten cold while Viktor was cleaning up. 

“Vitya?” Yuuri called. He set his phone aside, and looked at Viktor with the softest of smiles. He was in his glasses, contacts discarded; his right eye bore the symbol of their contract. “Come here. Let’s talk.” 

Oh! Did Yuuri want to talk about something new and… _exciting_? Viktor could do that. “Of course!” Viktor said. He sat across from Yuuri on the low windowsill. He hoped that the lights of New Sky City behind him made him look as alluring and sexy as he felt inside. He rubbed his hair with the towel again, though it was hardly damp anymore. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Viktor asked, excited. This close, he could see the fading bruise on the side of Yuuri’s neck, where Viktor’s lips and teeth had marked him. Viktor wished his own had lasted longer than a couple hours; damn this curse. He wanted to _always_ bear Yuuri’s mark. Maybe he should ask Yuuri to bite him again… 

Yuuri steeled himself first, a deep breath and the hard set of his shoulders. 

“After the final, let’s end this.” 

There was silence between them for a long moment. 

“What?” Viktor still smiled, but his eyes were pleading, begging Yuuri to tell him he’d heard wrong. 

He hadn’t. “You’ve done so much for me. But I’m ready. I want to save you, Viktor. After the Grand Prix Final, I’m going to take the code. I’ll take your curse from you.” 

Silence. Yuuri watched as the towel fell from Viktor’s hand, as his smile melted off his face, as his head bowed and his freshly shorn hair fell forward to obscure his expression. 

And then, a tiny droplet landed on Yuuri’s bare foot, too warm to have dripped from his hair. 

“Viktor?” 

Another drop, and then another; Yuuri reached out and swept Viktor’s damp fringe out of his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Viktor asked, through a lump in his throat. 

“I didn’t expect to see you cry.”

“I’m angry!” Viktor shouted, though his voice broke on it. “Did you even think about how I’d feel?” 

Yuuri was taken aback. Viktor had pushed his hand away, and Yuuri retreated, awkwardly perched on the edge of the bed with his arm half in the air. “I did. You’re all I think about, Vitya. I can’t bear to see you hurting anymore.”

“How selfish of you! You think you can decide what I allow to hurt me? You have no idea what kind of pain it would give me to see you cursed at my expense. Do you even realize that I’d have to kill you to transfer it to you?” 

“I know.” There was a hard lump in Yuuri’s throat, and it burned. 

“I could never,” Viktor grit out, his teeth chattering as he suddenly felt a bitter chill over his still damp skin. He’d cleaned himself up, preparing for Yuuri to take him apart in that singularly exhilarating way of his, lay Viktor out in bed and set every one of his nerves alight, and instead Yuuri had gone and broken him in the worst way possible. “I couldn’t hurt a hair on your head, Yuuri, and you _must_ know that.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Yuuri said. His voice wavered. “It wouldn’t be that hard, I’ve thought about it before. The bridges here are high enough—”

“_How dare you!_” Viktor shouted, and he sprang forward from the windowsill, his hands grabbing Yuuri’s shoulders before he could even register he was moving. He shook Yuuri, trying to force some sense into him. “Do you understand what you’re saying? You’re talking about killing yourself, all to take a curse from me!” 

“You did it for me, didn’t you?” Yuuri was calm, _too calm_, and it cut Viktor as deep as Yuuri’s words did, because he was _right_ but that didn’t make it _okay_. “A hundred years ago, you died so that I could live. Isn’t this what you want?” 

“_No!_” Viktor was well aware this wasn’t the time of night to be using such volume, but he couldn’t control it. Yuuri was tearing his heart out, didn’t he see? “There are other options, Yuuri—”

“This is what I’ve decided on. I never wanted to live forever, but I’d do it for you.” 

Viktor’s fingers fisted in Yuuri’s jacket, clinging even as he fell to his knees. The thin hotel carpet was unrelenting beneath him, but who cared. The bruises would fade, but Viktor’s heart would never heal. 

“You’ll forget me.” Viktor’s breath caught, as it dawned on him just how horrible that would be, to make Yuuri immortal while all recognition of Viktor faded from his eyes. 

“I won’t,” Yuuri promised, though he had no right to do so. “You’ll be right there with me. I can’t forget you, Vitya; you’re everything to me.”

“Please,” Viktor begged. “Please don’t do this to me. I need you.” 

“You’ll always have me, Vitya.” Yuuri reached down to caress Viktor’s cheek, to brush a thumb over his lips. “I’ll be with you for the rest of your life. You’ll never be without me.” 

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t _enough_. Viktor didn’t know what came after death; wasn’t sure if anything did, especially for one like him for whom death had, for a time, meant nothing. But if there was anything left out there for him, he wanted to share that with Yuuri, too. How to put that into words? How could he say that one lifetime was not enough? 

“But you said.” Viktor paused, gathering his scattered thoughts. “You said you wanted me to stay close to you.”

“You will. You’ll always be a part of me, Vitya. Forever.” 

Viktor could only cling harder. Once upon a time, he’d thought of Yuuri as a skater with a glass heart. Little did Viktor know, his heart was just as fragile, and Yuuri just as capable of shattering it, sending cutting shards through every inch of him left sprinkled like glitter across the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> and we're back! following updates to this series (as well as most of my fanfiction going forward) will be released about 1 month early In Another Location, please check out my twitter [@_uaevuon](https://twitter.com/_uaevuon) for more info. if you're interested, part 15 of LND will go up In That Other Location this weekend.


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